The first thing I notice as I wing my way over the greatest fear of architecture that Westeros has ever seen, is it’s size. Or rather, the lack thereof. Isn’t the Wall supposed to be truly titanic? So why then does it feel so much smaller than it’s supposed to be? Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s certainly very big. And long, can’t forget that. It stretches into the horizon in both directions. But then, of course it does. It goes from sea to sea, from coast to coast if I’m remembering correctly.
 
And yes, seven hundred feet tall is very impressive. But as I come in for a landing, I find myself… easily spanning it’s width? It’s height and length are certainly very impressive, but for some reason I thought it would be thicker than this. I’m very nearly straddling the damn thing!
 
… Of course, I am at my full size, at the moment. In all of my vaunted majesty, in all of my titanic draconic glory. I am, in a word, gargantuan. My true and proper size these days, after the growth of my hoard in both wealth and women, is mind-boggling, to put it simply. I really have no idea how big I am, at this point. Sadly, my frame of reference from my previous life is somewhat… lacking.
 
Look, it’s not my fault that I got sucked into World of Warcraft for a decade, leaving me somewhat unable to properly picture or even imagine most other named fantasy dragons. I was pretty sure I was bigger than Deathwing for sure at this rate, he being the biggest dragon I could think of from my time in WoW.
 
Was I bigger than Smaug? Truth be told, I hadn’t ever seen the second or third Hobbit movies. I’d thought the first one was supposed to be the only one and had gone into the theater with that expectation. When the movie had ended with very little in the form of closure or enjoyable storytelling, I had been left jaded and uninterested in the following installments. Everything I knew about Smaug came from cultural osmosis as a result. But he was fairly big wasn’t he? I was almost certainly bigger.
 
There weren’t many mountains I would fit inside, these days. And I could almost certainly eat about half a dozen of Canon Drogon for breakfast at this point, I suspected. Yeah, I was that big. I certainly dwarfed my siblings. In that, both Viserion and Rhaegar were effectively dwarf-sized dragons when compared to my full, proper majesty.
 
Was I bragging? Of course not! Who would I even be bragging too? I was alone up here on the Wall. Alone with my own thoughts. Alone with… wait, were those wildlings? Blinking big amber eyes, I stare at the little people fleeing from my massive form. I was expecting a lot of black cloaks. I was expecting the banners of the Night Watch top be flying along the Wall. At least, the scant bits of it still manned anyways.
 
As such, I hadn’t really paid attention to the finer details when I made my approach, more focused on judging the Wall and not finding it at all worthy of my expectations. Now though, now that I look closer… those really weren’t sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch, now were they? Nor was there a single black banner in sight.
 
Looking back over my shoulder, I can see my mother and her armies approaching in the far flung distance. I had, as was my tendency, decided to go ahead. Though I cannot actually see her specifically from here, I can practically see Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen leading her people forward all the same, in my mind’s eye.
 
She was coming to the Wall on my very pushy, very direct suggestions. She was coming here because I’d spent literal years at this point pushing portents of doom and gloom from the Far North onto her via our mental connection. She was coming to reinforce the Night’s Watch, having already finished securing the Seven Kingdoms under her rule.
 
… Something told me I may have let my mother dally a wee bit too long. Looking back on the changes I’d both purposefully and accidentally made to the timeline I was aware of; I found the place where I’d erred. In hindsight, it was really fucking obvious. But that didn’t change the facts. I might just have fucked up, a little.
 
-x-X-x-
 
Castle Black did not have a throne room to it, or anything like that. There was no place for a King to greet royal visitors. The closest they had was their great big hall with the Lord Commander’s table, which also doubled as their mess hall where they took their meals. All things considered, it made sense to Daenerys that she would ultimately meet with the current denizens of Castle Black outside. And not just because they were wildlings, instead of the Night’s Watch she’d been expecting.
 
Still, even if it was with an army at each of their backs in a very tense standoff, Daenerys was not worried as she moved forward to treat with this self-styled King-Beyond-The-Wall. After all, she had Drogon, and she knew her son would never let harm befall her. As she and her opposite move forward with small retinues across the open field between their two armies, the power imbalance inherent in their situation is made readily apparent by the massive black dragon occupying one half of said field.
 
They aren’t meeting directly under the shade that Drogon’s impressively expansive shadow is currently giving off, but he’s close enough away that one beat of his wings will send him crashing down on them all… to say nothing of the less physical powers her boy has come into as he’s matured and grown up.
 
But Daenerys puts that all out of her mind for the time being and focuses instead on the task at hand as she finally comes into hearing distance of one Mance Rayder. He immediately calls out to her, the grey-haired, sharp-faced old man seemingly not standing on custom.
 
“Before your heralds or what have you get started, let’s dispense with all of the titles, shall we? I prefer short and sweet introductions, these days. I’m Mance Rayder. The King-Beyond-the-Wall.”
 
Feeling a burst of dark humor at the situation, Daenerys can’t help but smile sardonically as she cocks an eyebrow and looks past him to said Wall.
 
“You don’t seem to be beyond it any longer, King Mance. Perhaps King-Upon-the-Wall would be a better title for you now?”
 
For a moment, Mance seems surprised at her being willing to take the piss out of him. So are his companions, some of whom even miss a step in the face of the Dragon Queen’s humor. Daenerys just keeps on smiling. Her son is a bad influence on her, really… but sometimes a bad influence is exactly what one needs to get a serious kick in the pants.
 
The moment passes, and Mance lets out a bark of laughter, even as he studies her with glinting eyes and a grim face.
 
“You’re quick-witted, your Grace. Have to admit, I didn’t expect that. But then, we haven’t known what to expect. Not like us Free Folk get much news from the Seven Kingdoms.”
 
Daenerys inclines her head in acknowledgment of that. He didn’t know what he was dealing with when it came to her. That was just fine, because she wasn’t entirely sure what he was about either. Except for what her child had given her. And what Drogon had given her was certainly more than she imagined Mance had.
 
“I suppose not. Tell me, King Mance… what has become of the Night’s Watch?”
 
Even from across the field, Daenerys can feel a small surge of guilt coming from her child, giving tell to the fact that even from hundreds of feet away, he could still hear what they were saying. Drogon seemed to think he knew exactly what had happened to the Night’s Watch… if she was reading their connection right, he actually felt a little responsible for not pushing her North faster. But it wasn’t his fault, really it wasn’t. Her decisions, regardless of his rather forceful input at times, were as always, her own.
 
Mance grimaces and sighs, shaking his head and looking to all the world like he was remorseful.
 
“Dead to the man, I’m afraid. Grisly business, that. And not business I was entirely happy to conduct. I tried to make them see reason, I offered them the chance to surrender. My people and I had a mighty need to get south of the Wall, you see, and I would have preferred it not be through them. They forced my hand. Them and the Army of the Dead.”
 
He drops that last bit with a guarded tone, clearly expecting visible shock from her, perhaps incredulity and disdain and disbelief as well. He gets nothing of the reaction he thinks he’s going to though. Daenerys merely nods her head, as if she understands, causing another ripple of shock through the Wildling King and his retinue.
 
“The Night’s Watch did not believe you when you told them what was coming then? Not a single one of them surrendered to you? Not a single one could be captured?”
 
Staring at her, clearly feeling his own disbelief at her lack thereof, Mance takes a moment to response. In the end, that response is quite succinct.
 
“No.”
 
Letting out a sigh, Daenerys closes her eyes for a moment. Sansa would be upset, of course. The death of one of her few remaining brothers, Jon Snow, was all but confirmed. But at the same time… she would understand. Daenerys could only hope that Drogon would make her understand if she needed help. After all, she and her son had a plan.
 
“Unfortunate, but likely unavoidable. I assume you dealt with the bodies appropriately?”
 
“… We burned them, if that’s what you mean. Tell me, Dragon Queen… what do YOU know of the Dead and the White Walkers?”
 
Smiling sardonically once again, Daenerys slides her gaze over to Drogon, over to her big massive lunk of a son, taking up more of the field then a good half of either of their armies all on his lonesome.
 
“My son, Drogon informed me of the threat. You’ll be happy, King Mance, to know that we’re here to help.”
 
Mance’s eyes follow her to Drogon and go wide in vague understanding. It’s unlikely he suddenly comprehends everything she’s leaving unsaid. Especially given his next words.
 
“… The Free Folk do not kneel… Your Grace.”
 
Letting her smile become thin and sharp enough to cut, Daenerys flashes her eyes.
 
“You do not kneel to Queens and Kings, I understand. You do not answer to Lords or Knights alike. But even the most foolish man or woman knows by instinct to duck their head before a dragon, I would think. At the very least, my son told me all about your Free Folk fleeing from him when he took a brief sojourn atop the Wall earlier.”
 
Mance grimaces, and then half-grins.
 
“… Aye, Your Grace.”
 
The acceptance is obviously not easy to make. Understandable, given the circumstances. And Daenerys can already see mulish looks in the eyes of some of Mance’s retinue. Wildling men who just might not be as smart as their King. Who just might think they can do something to her before Drogon can get there to stop it. They can’t, but the way her son tells it, they will need every breathing body when the time comes to protect her Seven Kingdoms from the Dead. So, Daenerys goes ahead and smooths over some of the ruffled feathers.
 
“That said, I have no intention of ruling you. Any of you. Tell me, King Mance, once you annihilated the Night’s Watch and took the Wall, why did you not continue to flee North?”
 
There’s a pause, and then he huffs.
 
“… Word reached us of your armies at Winterfell not a day after we finished off the Watch and saw to their burning. Word reached us of your dragons too. Didn’t make sense to go South and die to all of you when we finally had the Wall between us and the Dead.”
 
“No, I imagine it did not. Just as it makes no sense to me or my advisers to excise you from the Wall now when we should all be preparing for a much more important battle. That of the Living against the Dead. To that end, I am more than happy to offer you and your Free Folk a deal, King Mance.”
 
She pauses, taking in a breath, and is pleased to see the old wildling wait. It’s good that he can tell a dramatic pause when he sees one.
 
“… I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I care not for the lands beyond the Wall. When all is said and done and the Dead and White Walkers are destroyed, I imagine your Free Folk will wish to return home, yes? Without the threat, I imagine the lot of you prefer to live where you have for generations?”
 
There are murmurs from Mance’s retinue, even as the man himself slowly nods his agreement. Daenerys just smiles.
 
“Well, if any do wish to stay south of the Wall, then you will have to learn to stomach kneeling. There’s plenty of land here for you all to settle on, but it is MY land, which means you will have to follow MY laws. But that’s only if you want to stay. For now, I am more than happy to ask for an alliance against the threat posed to our peoples, rather than demand your immediate submission and subservience.”
 
Admittedly, it was Daenerys’ first instinct to do the latter over the former. An alliance with a bunch of savages? But Drogon had talked her around. It would be such a pain in the ass to try to domesticate the Free Folk. And she really had NO desire whatsoever to rule over a frozen expanse like the True North. Neither did Sansa, she’d made sure to ask the girl.
 
So, it was perfectly fine if they simply teamed up and went their separate ways after the threat was dealt with. The Free Folk could return to the True North and the way of life they preferred, and Daenerys could turn to the task of properly ruling her Seven Kingdoms peacefully. It was a win-win situation, as Drogon had called it.
 
“… An alliance.”
 
Cocking an eyebrow, Daenerys smirks.
 
“Indeed. A simple alliance against the Army of the Dead and their creators. We will destroy the Dead. We will destroy the White Walkers. And then we will go our separate ways. Are there any objections to such a plan?”
 
There’s a brief pause as Mance Rayder mulls over her offer in his head. Eventually, with narrowed eyes, he asks a question, one that almost makes Daenerys laugh in a distinctly unladylike manner.
 
“For the duration of this alliance, who’s laws will we work under? If our peoples are to mingle and work together to man the Wall against the Army of the Dead, there will surely be… problems.”
 
She doesn’t laugh, but she does do the next best thing. She smiles, a wide smile, one filled with teeth that causes even Mance Rayder to draw back a bit.
 
“Simple enough, really. Laws are good in a time of peace, and even during times of war when the war is a conventional one. But at a time like this, I cannot abide selfishness. I cannot abide criminality of any sort. You will tell your people the same thing I have told mine. They will work for the good of the Living until the threat is passed… or they will face Drogon’s Judgement, not yours or mine.”
 
With that, she gestures expressively in Drogon’s direction. Mance looks over, only to blink in confusion. Seeing that look on the old wildling’s face, Daenerys finally looks over to. Drogon is staring at them now. No, wait… following his line of sight, the Dragon Queen traces it to one Wildling in particular among Mance’s retinue. There’s a beautiful young woman there, stood next to a pregnant woman who could only be her sister.
 
Her hair was the color of dark honey and laid in curls all the way down to her waist. With sharp cheekbones and pale grey eyes, with a slender waist and a rather expansive bosom, she was… exactly what Daenerys’ son liked in a woman. Not that he didn’t have quite the eclectic collection of different types in his hoard.
 
The beautiful Free Folk woman stares right back at Drogon as he stares her down. Laughing, Daenerys calls out to her.
 
“You there! What’s your name?”
 
Finally, breaking eye contact with her son, the wildling turns to Daenerys and blinks owlishly.
 
“… I am called Val.”
 
Mance tries to step in at that point, clearly sensing that something was amiss. But Daenerys stops him with a single raised hand, and he falls silent, proving once and for all that for all that they were a King and a Queen, one of them held true power and the other… the other did not. Not even sparing her counterpart a glance, knowing that their alliance was set in stone whether they actually verbally agreed to it or not, Daenerys gives this Val a wolfish smile.
 
“Well, Val. Would you like to meet him?”
 
The moment she understands what Daenerys is offering, the wildling’s eyes widen in surprise and then excitement. A smile of delight spreads across her own face as she nods her head up and down energetically.
 
“Yes, I would!”
 
Daenerys just continues to smile. Ah, the things she does for her beloved son. It’s tragic, the fact that the Night’s Watch could not hold out until her arrival. But in every cloud, there is a silver lining.
 
And Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, was nothing if not… adaptable.

-x-X-x-

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